


The Two.

by IsLib



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Crusades, First Meetings, Immortality, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:08:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25264354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsLib/pseuds/IsLib
Summary: Their first death is a shared one.Two enemies, fighting their ways through the armies that enveloped them until they reach each other and find their equal.Also: I saw the movie, turned obsessive, read the comics, and decided to write this even though I'm hopeless at writing anything remotely romantic.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 12
Kudos: 178





	The Two.

**Author's Note:**

> I listened to Liszt while writing this because I was hoping to get some Petrarca sonnet readings (that's the right tone for them and you can't tell me otherwise) and Liszt made music out of one of them, apparently, and I just stuck with YT autoplay after that.
> 
> I use the word "Saracen" a lot, because when thinking about crusades, my brain adopts a late Gothic/early Reneissance Europe writing style - and then I have to make it work with modern English. So, please don't hate me for that word, it's technically a stylistic choice that disappears later in the work.
> 
> Enjoy!

Their first death is a shared one.

Two enemies, fighting their ways through the armies that enveloped them until they reach each other and find their equal.

Their swords clash, eastern steel against a western blade. They fight alone, the war falling into the background - no other soldier is brave enough to enter combat that is drawing such intense focus from the two men.

They don't know each other, not outside of the fight and the war, but they know the other is the enemy, for their skin on the surface and for their superiors deep down.

They are well-matched as fighters, they both realize - in another life, they might be sparring partners, brothers in arms, or respected equals; in this life, they are determined to be the last thing the other one sees.

And so it is.

They both see an opening at the same time, thrusting their blades forward with a singular focus. The Saracen is run straight through, the handle of the longsword nearly touching his stomach - the Christian's torso sliced open wide. They lose grip on their weapons as they feel their strength leaking with the blood that is spilling out of their bodies.

The Saracen falls back with the momentum of the enemy's thrust, his eyes on the sky. The Christian falls to his knees and forwards, keeping his eyes on the other man for as long as he can, making sure his blow was as fatal as the one that struck him.

Death is not surprising to either of them. But what comes next, is.

* * *

They dream. They dream of each other, of the fight, of the pain of the other one. They dream of two women, fighting side by side who knows where - neither of them seems familiar.

And then they wake.

* * *

As the Christian wakes, he's reluctant to open his eyes - the memory of the slicing pain still fresh. The Saracen clutches at his bowls as he feels the long blade being pushed up and out of his body.

The moment their eyes focus again they reach for the nearest weapon. They are both confused, for death is unmistakable to those who hold their faith close to their hearts, but they are soldiers, too. And their enemy, whom they believed dead, is breathing in front of them.

The battle is still raging on, and it's unlikely anyone has even noticed they have fallen. They grasp the nearest blades - and find themselves wielding the other's weapon. The Saracen struggles to adapt his grasp to the rigid, straight blade as the Christian reaches to unbuckle his shield to hold the unfamiliar balance of the scimitar with both of his hands. 

They fight.

Their blades sing as the first time, although their movements lack the certainty and grace they had before as both of the fighters try to mimic the way they saw the other use his weapon. This time, there is no isolation from the war as a Saracen arrow pierces the Christian's neck and the Saracen is stomped over by a horse that has lost its rider. They die.

They dream.

And they rise up.

This time, as their wounds heal up, there is no fighting around them anymore. The sun has set, there are fires in the distance and the sudden drop of temperature shocks them for long enough to think before starting their fight anew.

They are aware that something is wrong now. The Christian considers whether he may be in Hell, although many of the descriptions he had been given would disagree. The Saracen considers whether he has gone insane and the other man isn't even there.

And then he raises the longsword from the ground with both of his hands and cuts the Crusader's head off.

He leaves for the camp. If he has gone mad, the people will do him some good.

* * *

The next time they see each other, it's across a span of land - they are both in a group trying to get water for their camps. They are the first soldier to see the other men and they don't recognize the other until their weapons are clashing just like the first time. 

They fight. They die. They wake. Fight. Die. Wake. Again and again and again, as they doubt every moment of their existence.

The few soldiers that survive the skirmish run when they notice the two in their unstopping fight, dealing repeated mortal blows and brushing them off with little notice.

* * *

They fight until they tire. As hours pass and their fight seems to know no end, they learn each other's styles, the movement of each other's body becomes ingrained in their eyes and minds, their strategies adapt and change the fight into a sort of violent dance.

It is this rising awareness of each other that eventually makes them stop. Their blades tip to the ground and they breathe heavily as they both come to the end of their strength.

And at this moment, they understand each other perfectly.

At this moment, they aren't soldiers. They aren't a Christian and a Saracen, they aren't enemies.

They are just two men whose cultures hated the other. Two men who were told to kill the non-believers. Two men who are tired of fighting a war.

* * *

The Christians come first. Niccolo isn't sure whether it is because their camp is closer or they are more hateful than the other side, but as he notices them arriving, he nods a warning at Yusuf (at least he hopes that that is his name - their communication is still quite broken) to warn him of the arriving force and takes up his sword once again.

There is no pleasure in slaughtering one's kinsmen. There is no pleasure in slaughter altogether. But there is an intense feeling in fighting side by side with the man who wouldn't die to one's blade. Neither man could say whether that feeling is positive or not, but it is all-consuming and spurs them on until every last one of the party that came to capture them is dead.

And they leave.

They would die again, rise again, kill again, dream again, and eventually they would love and love again.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, did I mention how bad I am at doing romance? Even basic sentiment is difficult. If I ever figure it out, this will get a continuation - but in the meantime, I'm gonna say that what I'd like to happen after this is pretty close to what happens in _[Covenant](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25160494)_ by Delphi? Have a read there, it's fantastic.
> 
> You can find me on twitter @izzyliberty if you like, I haven't written much fanfiction since I like ten years ago because I'm bad at it, let me know if you enjoyed this :)


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